Harrisburg Railers Box Set 1

by R J Scott

  “He says you must eat and not make yourself sick,” Anatoly added.

  I glanced at Stan. What? He just smiled at me, but not in a friendly, open way—more in an understanding, sympathetic way. What the hell?

  “He says he sees chocolate on your desk a lot, and coffee. Too much coffee.”

  I felt like everyone was looking at me, but a quick glance showed me that no one was paying any attention.

  “Okay,” I said to Stan and Anatoly.

  They both nodded at me, but in my peripheral vision, I caught Stan looking at me. I ignored him, trying to focus on something else. I zeroed in on one particular conversation, then wished I hadn’t.

  “So I said, sixty-nine plus me is the number seventy I wear on my back.” Denton was talking. He was a winger, and sitting the other side of Adler. I liked Denton, but he was a bit of an idiot, who made jokes about everything.

  “She fell for your shit?” Arvy asked.

  Evidently I’d tripped into listening to Denton explaining a pickup line.

  “Yeah, she was hot to trot, and the sixty-nine…” He trailed off and looked at me past Adler. “My bad,” he said. But he was smiling like he wasn’t apologizing at all. And hell, why was he even apologizing to me? My mouth opened before my brain kicked in, the very thing I’d warned the entire team about. And what I said fell into an unfortunate lull in conversation.

  “Hell, what is it with hockey players and their addiction to sixty-nine?”

  Silence.

  Complete, stone-cold silence.

  And then the laughter started, and right in the middle of it I could feel myself turning scarlet. This was like I was back at college; this was me saying something idiotic and having people turn on me. I was hot, and I pushed back my chair, aiming for composed.

  “Excuse me,” I said.

  And before anyone could stop me, before I’d finished the soup that Stan so desperately wanted me to; I left.

  Eight

  Adler

  I watched Layton bolt from the table. Well, maybe bolt wasn’t the right word. He didn’t leap up or knock over his chair. Nothing that dramatic. But he did hustle his ass away from the meal and the confused Railers. Everyone sat looking at each other, but no one offered to get up. Probably I should have just continued eating the gourmet food in front of me, but no. Adler Lockhart was just not capable of such intelligence.

  Without saying a word, I dabbed at my mouth with the cloth napkin, pushed to my feet, and ambled off in Layton’s wake. The guys began to murmur among themselves. I exited through the heavy front door and instantly saw Layton standing among all the parked cars, looking lost.

  I walked over to him, my mind coughing up stupid things to say. The closer I got to him, the thicker his cloud of anxiety grew. Arousal was the cloud clinging to me. His steely gaze flew to me when I rounded the bumper of a massive black SUV. The man looked close to losing his shit.

  “Someone blocked me in,” he panted, and tugged on his neatly knotted tie. I gave the SUV a look, then glanced back at Layton.

  “I can take you home.”

  Okay, Adler. What the ever-loving fuck?

  “No, no, I can’t do that. Uh, do you know who that behemoth belongs to?” He indicated the Ford Explorer with a nod of his head.

  “Not a clue.” His nerves were contagious. I started fiddling with the tie resting a bit too tightly on my Adam’s apple as well. “I’m parked in the street.” I motioned to my BMW parked a few houses down. “I do that so it won’t get dinged. Did you even open my gift?”

  Okay, Adler. What the ever-loving fuck part deux.

  “The gift? No, I didn’t open it,” he said.

  “Yeah, I figured. It’s okay. I shouldn’t have asked.” I took a step closer. His rat-trapped-in-a-room-full-of-cats vibe was off the charts. “Look, what you said in there,” I jerked a thumb at the expensive home filled with puck pushers, “was just a joke. A funny one too, you know.”

  He didn’t return my smile. He began wetting his lips, moving in a tight circle like an antique tin top that I’d had as a kid. It was all kinds of sexy. Well, the tin top wasn’t sexy. He was. His lips were slick and shiny now. They needed to be kissed again. Yep. By me. Right there in the driveway against the SUV that was freaking him out. Sexy toys. I bet he’d be an amazing man to play adult games with…

  Adler, stop thinking about sexy toys. Please. You’re starting to sound like an idiot.

  “I let my mouth take over for my brain. That’s not acceptable. Why did this prick park here?” He slapped at the SUV. I winced in expectation of an alarm going off, but the massive thing sat there quietly.

  “Because it’s a driveway,” I pointed out. “Do you like coffee? I mean, I know you drink coffee, because when I kissed you I could smell amaretto creamer on your breath, and unless you chug creamer straight then you must put it in coffee. So you want to go have some coffee? I’m parked over there.” Again, I waved a hand at my car sitting by the curb.

  Layton stared at me, his cheeks still flushed and his eyes… oh man, those gray eyes were brimming with emotion. Not sure that they were good feelings, but his eyes were gorgeous, and I found myself suddenly not caring whether he opened my gift. I’d buy him another one. A better one. One that would make him see how much I liked him.

  “No, Adler, no coffee. I just…” He stopped pacing like a nervous lion and exhaled dramatically, his chest expanding and stretching the snappy jacket hugging his lean frame and making me a tiny bit hungrier for the taste and feel of him. “We can’t date, Adler.”

  “Why not?” I shoved my hands into the front pockets of my pants.

  “Because… because of a lot of reasons.”

  I ran my fingers over the couple of coins in my pocket. “What reasons? I’m not a serial killer. I don’t smoke or do drugs. I only have a beer now and again. I’m funny and reasonably cute in a Fred Weasley kind of way. I don’t play for Pittsburgh or Philly. I’d like to buy you coffee and talk about shit. Get to know you. Maybe kiss you again. We can call it something else if the word ‘date’ worries you. How about a coffee klatch? Like we’re a couple of old women sitting down to gossip over coffee. Will you do a klatch with me?”

  There seemed to be something on the tip of his tongue. His wild eyes settled a bit as he tried to look at me without it being obvious that he was staring at me.

  It reminded me of that time Apollo and I had found a stunned bird lying in a flower bed. It had flown into one of the windows of the Lockhart Maine summer home. We’d sat down in the mulch and taken turns holding that chickadee until it opened its eyes. It had sat in my hands for a moment, dark eyes trying to assess where it was and what kind of predator was looking at it. In a flurry of fear and an overwhelming need to be free, I assumed, it had taken wing.

  Layton reminded me of that fearful bird.

  He dug into the interior pocket of his jacket and pulled out his phone. “Thank you for the klatch offer, but I’m not sure it would be wise professionally. I’m calling a cab.”

  “But I have a car forty feet away,” I told him, and pointed at the Beemer yet again. “Dude, come on, let me—”

  “I can’t. I just… No. I can’t.”

  “Right, okay, it’s cool. Don’t pay for a cab. Just hang here and let me go find out who’s blocking you. Okay?”

  He nodded and lowered his phone from his ear. “Thank you.”

  Five minutes later, Layton was pulling out in his Nissan Leaf, which was way too quiet for comfort as I stood next to Denton, the owner of the SUV.

  “I don’t know anyone else who drives those electric cars,” Denton said.

  “Me neither.”

  Denton cleared his throat. “Did he leave because of that joke? Was it offensive to gays?”

  “Nah, man, he left because of me.” I sauntered to my car parked beside the curb and deserted the dinner as well. My partying mood had left at the same time Layton did.

  “Are you sure you don’t want any more pie?” Apol
lo lingered by the fridge, pie in hand, eager to finish cleaning up after the meal.

  “Nope. If I eat one more bite, I’ll die.” I pushed myself up from the dining room table, which we hardly ever used aside from holiday meals, and patted my protruding stomach. “I plan to go take a nap in front of the Vikings–Lions game.”

  “You should call Karrie Anne,” Apollo said while shoving the dessert into the fridge. He had to wiggle the remains of the Thanksgiving turkey, bowls of corn, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and cranberry sauce around.

  “Maybe Karrie Anne should call me,” I mumbled as I waddled from the dining room to the living room.

  “Maybe she should, but she probably won’t,” Apollo called after me.

  “Yeah, I know.” I dove onto the sofa, the huge sectional swallowing me up. I felt like absolute shit now. Layton had neatly avoided me since that dinner at the owner’s house. I kept canceling our meetings because I knew he was uncomfortable around me but didn’t know why. Rolling onto my back, I fished my phone out of the front pocket of my jeans, unbuttoned the top of my pants, and lay there staring at my smartphone. No calls. No texts. Wow. Holidays were so much fun. I was really feeling the Norman Rockwell. Not.

  “Call her,” Apollo called from the kitchen. “Maybe she’ll surprise you.” I could hear that even he didn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. Probably his mom had told him to nudge me into calling. Moms are like that. Warm and caring. Or so I’ve heard.

  “Maybe my dick will be gilded the next time I look too,” I shouted, and got a snort in reply.

  I hit Karrie Anne’s contact picture and put the phone against my ear. Feet on the arm of the couch, I waited and waited. Finally she picked up. I could hear laughter and chit-chat behind her. Oh right, the yearly Thanksgiving meal in Punta Cana with Dad’s clients and Mom’s golf club sisters.

  “Adler, how are you, sweetheart?” She sounded like she actually cared. I wondered how much she’d had to drink. “Your father was just talking about you. Why aren’t you here?”

  “I have this thing called a career.” I didn’t ask why Cole was talking about me or what he’d been saying. None of it was good, I was sure. Probably he was shitfaced and lamenting what a disappointment his only child was. Queer jocks weren’t high on his “Things I Love” list.

  “Oh yes, hockey. Well, are you winning your games?” She whispered to someone to shush, then giggled in my ear.

  “Yeah, we’re doing pretty good actually. I mean, for a new expansion team we’re coming together well. The guys on my line are pretty decent and…”

  She’d started chatting with someone named Adolphus. I waited. She continued to talk to this Adolphus, giggling and whispering naughty little things.

  “You do recall that your son is listening to all this, right?” I asked after several minutes of her trying to flirt with Adolphus.

  “Adler? When did you call? My God, I must have had more Manhattans than I realized. I have to go now. Ta.”

  She hung up. I flung the phone onto the table, closed my eyes, and wondered how normal families did holidays.

  “Okay, the cleaning up is over. Time to start decorating!” Apollo shouted, then rang jingly sleigh bells right in my face. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut.

  Ho ho fucking ho.

  Today was the day. The day the Railers management and team stood behind two of our own as they came out to the world. One day after Black Friday. One day before our first game of the season with Boston. Both were big deals for vastly different reasons. One day was for big sales and the other day would be for big hits. Yeah, I thought that up all by myself as I shaved and dressed for the press event. I’d gotten the official email from Layton Foxx. At first, my heart had sped up seeing his name, but then as I read it I’d realized it was purely a business discussion. How he wanted us to act, dress, and several politically correct replies for after the press were done feasting on Tennant and Jared.

  I’d linger in the shadows and watch. Maybe I could get a feel for how the world would take gay hockey players before I leaped off the cliff. Everyone was always telling me to shut up and think, so that was what I was doing. Was hiding the same as thinking? Somehow it didn’t feel like it.

  As I drove to the barn, thoughts of Layton swirled around inside my head. That was nothing new. The man was starting to be an obsession. He prowled my dreams. I’d woken up several times over the past week or two soaked in sweat, my cock hot and hard, with flimsy remnants of sleepy visions of Layton clinging to my consciousness. The man was always naked in my dreams. Eager, too. Pliant and supple under my hands, willing… ah man, so willing. And every time I woke up in that state, I jerked off to the tattered fragments of erotica. I hadn’t beaten off this much since I was fifteen. My fucking dick was going to be calloused if I kept this up.

  Sitting at a red light, Winger on the stereo, I mulled over how the three most important players in this press event had to be feeling. Tennant and Jared were probably hot, nervous messes. Layton too, I’d wager. He was high-strung anyway. I glanced to the right and saw a small boutique. Classy, by the looks. Maybe I should grab them all a little something. I checked my Rolex. Plenty of time. Flipping the turn signal on, I slid out of traffic and parked.

  The inside of the tiny shop was nice. It was a high-end gift shop with some jewelry. Hand-crafted, according to the filigreed signs. Inside the glass were some quality men’s gifts. I settled on cuff links for Rowe and Madsen. Matching silver ones—square, classic and simple. They fit the men, or so I felt. Layton would be trickier. None of the jewelry felt like him. I meandered around, checking things out: pretty trinkets and little wooden boxes for earrings or bangles. Silken scarves, frilly shawls, brightly colored ties. Then I found a box holding a silk handkerchief. It was eggshell white with vibrant rainbow thread hand-stitched around the scalloped edges. Folded and tucked into the pocket of one of his tailored suits, it would the perfect accessory for a hot, professional gay man.

  Ten minutes later I was back in my car, Winger’s “Can’t Get Enuff” vibrating out of the speakers, my gifts lying on the passenger seat.

  “Jesus,” I murmured when I slid into the players’ entrance. You could hear the hum of the press gathered in the large room set aside for the media. I slipped past the open door, avoiding the reporters, and hurried into the dressing room. The Railers had turned out en masse to give Ten and Jared support. Sure, there had been gentle pokes from Layton as well as the other people in PR and social media to attend, but no one had been forced. As I scanned the room for Rowe and Madsen, I counted the whole team and coaching staff.

  I strolled up to Arvy and Stan. I got a grin from one and a clap on the back from the other. Stan stood at my side with his hand lingering on my shoulder.

  “You guys seen Ten or Coach Madsen?” I enquired.

  “They’re off with that Foxx guy getting tips or something. You got them gifts? Shit.” Arvy sighed. “I didn’t get them anything. Now I feel like foot fungus.”

  “You are no foot fungus. You are spray to kill fungus,” Stan announced loudly enough to quiet those standing around us.

  “Yep, that’s him, Arvy Funky Toes,” I tossed out. Stan laughed loud and long. Arvy punched me in the arm.

  After a short visit with more of my fellow Railers, I went off to find the stars of this gay little production. All three were gathered in Layton’s claustrophobic office. They all looked up when I rapped on the open door.

  “Hey, Lockhart,” Madsen said.

  My gaze locked onto Layton. He was in a black suit with a white shirt and a slim silver tie that made his pewter eyes glow. There was a softness in his gaze when it met mine. My stomach did a wicked backward flip.

  “Did you need something?” Madsen added.

  “Uh, no. I just wanted to give you all a good luck gift.” I rammed a box at each man one by one, Layton getting the final present. His eyebrows knotted up as Tennant and Jared tore into their gifts. “Mom always says nothing says love like a small b
ox with a big chunk of gold inside it.”

  Ten and Jared chortled at my bon mot. Layton merely stood there, box in one hand and iPad in the other, trying to stare holes through me.

  “Whoa, Ad, man, these are nice,” Tennant said as he inspected his cuff links.

  “They truly are. Thanks, Adler, but you didn’t have to go to all this trouble. Seeing you and the rest of the Railers here backing Ten and me is a wonderful gift.”

  I shook Jared’s hand, then Ten’s.

  “Let’s go grab ten minutes alone somewhere. I need to replace my cuff links,” Ten told his boyfriend, then gave me a solid rap side of fist to side of fist.

  “Is that what they’re calling it now?” I asked with a dirty chuckle. Ten pounded me on the shoulder, then left with Madsen on his heels.

  “You going to open that one?” I asked Layton when it was just him, me, and that box in his hand.

  “Adler, you have to stop buying me gifts. It’s unprofessional and it makes me feel beholden and I don’t much care to feel that way.” He held the box out to me. I shook my head. He frowned and lowered the prettily wrapped box. “This isn’t the way to win my heart.”

  “Then what is the way to win your heart?”

  He blew out a slow breath through pursed lips. “I could use a cup of coffee.”

  It was ridiculous how excited hearing him say that made me. “Like a coffee date?”

  “Well, it won’t be much of a date, since there’s a whole hockey team and about a hundred members of the press corps here. Maybe just a coffee klatch this time?”

  “Cool. Klatches are cool. Will you open that gift sometime?” I tapped the box in his left hand with my finger. He nodded. Then I ran my finger up his thumb and over his knuckles. He didn’t jerk his hand away, so yay for progress.

  “I have to get to the press conference,” he reminded me as I traced the tendons on the back of his hand. It would have been the most natural thing in the world to kiss him then. But I couldn’t, because I was still hiding my gay man in a dark, dank closet.